


Don’t Trust Dean to Point You in the Right Direction

by hit_the_books



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, POV First Person, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:44:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3765214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was a request to <a href="http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/post/116661429970/imagine-this-sam-has-been-stuck-on-a-translation">Dreams from the Bunker Tumblr</a>.</p>
<p>Anon asked: Imagine this: Sam has been stuck on a translation all day and you manage to figure it out. Sam decides to repay you. Up to you where it goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don’t Trust Dean to Point You in the Right Direction

You notice the youngest Winchester sat in a corner of the diner, his laptop out, a couple of books beside him, a frown creasing his forehead, and a coffee stained mug. You’d come in to pick up some coffee for the road, before heading back to the university, but you’d not expected to see Sam again after the previous night’s festivities. You’d figured they would have hopped on out like they’d said they would.

There had been a lot of body shots involved, off of you, and you’d figured that that number of purple nurples would have kept the guys out until at least late afternoon. But here he was, a picture of adorable studiousness and you couldn’t help wandering up to his table and sitting down opposite him.

“You know, all hard work and no play,” you say to Sam as you sit down across from him.

“Y/N,” Sam says, without looking away from his laptop, “thanks for the drinks last night, but now isn’t a good time.”

You were expecting this. The frown was threatening to take over his entire face after all. Studying the spines of the books beside Sam, you reply, “Maybe I can help you. I did drink far fewer purple nurples than either of you last night. And I probably know more about ancient Sumerian than you.”

“Excuse me?” Sam said, looking up from his screen.

“I can translate whatever it is that you’re stuck on.”

You watch Sam closely as he seems to consider this offer with whatever you-don’t-know-what that he could possibly have to judge it against. Finally, he seems to come to some kind of conclusion, as he licks his lips and says, “It might be a little weird.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you answer, bringing Sam’s laptop over to your side of the table.

You look at the ancient characters and your lips curl into a knowing smile. “You know there’s a perfectly good English translation of this kicking around, right?” You look up at Sam.

“What?!” Sam asks, incredulity filling his voice.

“I don’t know who sent you looking here, but this is the tale of Inanna’s descent into the underworld. Pretty well known,” you reply, pulling a notebook and pen towards you.

“Dean…” Sam mutters, but you ignore him as you write out a web address where a very detailed translation exists. And you also, helpfully, add your cell number.

“There.” You hand the notepad over to Sam.

“How do you….?” Sam asks, looking at you in slight bewilderment.

“I’m a researcher at the University of Chicago. Kind of my thing,” you reply. Turning the laptop back round with a feeling of satisfaction, you smile at Sam and get up to leave.

Standing up and heading towards the counter to get that coffee you wanted, you tense as Sam grabs at your right hand.

“Wait,” he pleads.

You stop and turn to him. “What now?”

“You didn’t give me the chance to say thank you.”

Shrugging and little nonplussed as to where this could be heading, you ask, “And now you have.”

“Not the way I was thinking.”

Sam looks at you with big, puppy eyes, a slight yearning warmth behind them. Business like, you ask, “How, exactly, do you plan to say thank you, then?” You needed to get back from the conference and check in with the university.

“Um…”

“Buy me lunch across the road.”

 

“Okay, just give me a second to get my things and pay my bill,” Sam says, going back to this table.

*

The little Italian place was quaint, a family run business. You could sense where Sam wanted to take things, but you weren’t so sure. Purple nurple body shots was one thing, but the look in Sam’s eyes was something else entirely.

“Well,” you say as you put down your fork, “thanks for lunch. I’ll leave the check with you.” You begin to stand up and Sam grabs you again.

“You’re going?” Sam asks, sounding slightly hurt.

“What exactly do you expect? We hardly know each other. Look, you’ve got my number. Call me the next time you’re in Chicago.” With that you leave without giving Sam another look.


End file.
